Would You Be Brave Enough?
by Allycatreadseverything
Summary: No one knows what they would do if they knew how it would all turn out in the end. When faced with the impossible situation of knowing what was coming, would you fight?
1. Chapter 1

If you could see the outcome of any situation, would you try to change it? A battle? A war? A relationship? One of the strongest armours we as humans have is ignorance. Facing your fears are, sometimes, some of the most difficult things we have to do. Not knowing the outcome of something makes you fight for the favourable outcome.

No one knows what they would do if they knew how it would all turn out in the end. When faced with the impossible situation of knowing what was coming, would you fight? Would you look fate in the face and say, "No, this is not going to happen."

Would you be brave enough?


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione Granger stood in the dark and dank passage leading to the Shrieking Shack, trying to breathe as quietly as she could. The Battle of Hogwarts was yet to explode into death and destruction. Having acquiesced to a Patronus summons while walking the panicked corridors of Hogwarts, Hermione now found herself listening to the thunderous beating of her own heart.

Nobody, student, teacher or Order Member alike had turned when a small, smoky water animal had weaved through the throngs and stopped in front of the wan-looking young woman.

So quietly that she had to turn her ear towards the apparition, a deep voice said two words, "Shrieking Shack."

Looking back at the small animal, Hermione gave a small nod. Turning away, she made her way through the halls and out on to the frigid grounds of Hogwarts. Above her head, white and blue flashes of a Shield charm threw shadows on the grass. Gripping her wand tighter in her hand, Hermione approached the Whomping Willow. A quick jab of a stick temporarily froze the wild thrashings of the tree and allowed her to slither down the narrow opening and to drop on to the path below in a swirl of dust and earth.

"Lumos," Hermione whispered. The eerie glow lit her way well enough to make her way quickly along the corridor.

The path came to an incline and it wasn't long before she found herself exactly below the stairs leading upwards. This is where she paused. Slowly breathing in and out, Hermione took a moment to gather herself. She unconsciously smoothed down her hair, slightly tugging on the heavy braid that lay across her left shoulder. Now wasn't the time to be nervous. Hermione wasn't 100% sure of what would happen once she entered the dilapidated building, but she sure as hell wasn't going to squander an opportunity to see him. Taking a last steadying breath, Hermione gripped the dusty handrail and ascended the stairs at a maddeningly slow rate for the man awaiting her presence in the upstairs sitting room. But Hermione wasn't to know that. She wasn't to know that the dark figure had been pacing backwards and forwards for what seemed like hours, waiting for the opportunity to summon the beautiful woman to him for the last time.

Hermione reached the top of the stairs and saw a shadow pass across the crack beneath the door.

'He's here _,'_ Hermione thought to herself.

"She's finally come _,_ "Snape whispered. Holding his breath as the door swung open to reveal a tired and defeated Hermione Granger.

The two lovers stood apart and simply stared at the other, unable to move for the moment.

"You haven't been eating," the dark man finally came out with.

A surprised, quick laugh popped from Hermione's mouth and filled the dusty room. The corner of Snape's mouth quirked upwards and the nervous tension that had surrounded the pair disappeared into the cold night air.

A sad smile then graced Hermione's lips as she asked, "How have you been?"

The Potion's master gestured and shrugged his shoulders. "Well. As well as can be expected." Not knowing what else to say, he fell back on the old ways of manners. "You?"

"As well as can be expected," she answered. Neither believing the statements, the pair's conversation stalled again.

Hermione looked over to the man who had invaded her mind and her heart so quickly she didn't know what or how it had happened. She could take the awkwardness no longer. As if guessing her intentions, they both lunged towards the other at the same time. Hermione and Snape met in the middle of the ramshackle room in a desperate embrace. They held each other so tightly neither could draw proper breath. But the intake of oxygen was the last thing on either of their minds.

Drawing ever so slightly back, Snape held Hermione's face in his hands, his breath puffing hot and heavy across her face. Hermione still had her eyes closed, willing away the treacherous hot tears that were leaking from underneath her eyelids to cease. Snape allowed the tears to fall as he desperately took in her features, down to the tiniest detail. The button nose, her rough looking and nervously chewed lips, to her proud bone structure, now visible beneath pale, undernourished skin.

"Look at me," he commanded, slightly shaking her head.

Hermione took but a moment to open her eyes and to stare desperately into the deep depths opposite her.

"What's going to happen to us?" Hermione implored.

A sad smile graced the face of Snape. "I don't know, my love." Smoothing the hair in her braid softly, he sighed. "I don't know. But you must promise me that you will do all you can to stay alive."

His eyes searching out the chocolate brown depths punctuated the last words.

"You must promise to do this."

True to her nature, Hermione began to argue. "But what about you…"

Snape interrupted the know-it-all desperately. "You must survive this, my love. You must. It is so important."

More silent, hot tears leaked from Hermione's eyes and stained her cheeks a blotchy red. Exhaling messily, she held Snape's hands in hers and put her head against his chest.

"I promise," came the muffled reply.

Pulling his hands from hers, Snape gathered Hermione in his arms and held her.

Whilst safely tucked into his embrace, Hermione's mind began to wander. What did he mean? Did he mean to not survive this? What about Harry? And the horcruxes? Pulling away, knowing she wouldn't be able to out-argue the powerful man wrapped about her form, her hand fisted in the front of his deepest black robes.

"Now you must promise me the same thing."

Snape sighed and put his forehead against hers. Not wanting to make a promise he was sure he couldn't keep, he did the only thing he could think of. He kissed her. Desperately. Pouring all his love and fear into the passionate joining of their lips. Hermione responded in kind: searching and scared.

Probing her lips with his tongue, she acquiesced to his request and allowed him to kiss her deeply. Their tongues meeting in an age-old dance, they breathed heavily through their noses as fires were ignited inside them. Not wasting any time, Snape freed Hermione's flowing locks from their braided cage and ran his hand sensuously through its volume. Sighing as she felt his fingers massage her scalp, Hermione pulled Snape closer to her body, feeling his passion for her growing against her abdomen.

Desperately wanting to feel his weight against her, Hermione tugged on Snape's lapels and urged his to the floor. Surprised, but by no means wanting to stall her actions, Snape dropped to his knees and hungrily kissed Hermione's neck while she clung to him for dear life.

"Severus," she breathily moaned into the air. All she received was a throaty moan from the man now tugging on her collar, trying to pull away the material to gain access to the silky skin underneath.

Pulling him all the way to the ground with her, Hermione revelled in the masculine weight settling on top of her. How she had missed this. Deeply kissing him again Hermione pulled her legs up and wrapped them around her love's body. Snape groaned deep in his throat as their centres came into contact, feeling the heat from their bodies, even through the many layers of clothing.

Snape was losing all control of his body. Always one to be in control of everything, and hating to relinquish it, this was the only time in his life that he allowed himself to be led by his body's reactions to the sensual woman underneath him. He pulled her jacket and jumper away from her body and applied his mouth to Hermione's heaving breasts. Even through the material of her t-shirt, Hermione could feel every suck and nip, and hot shots of electricity fired down to her core.

Their bodies rocked against each other as hand, lips and teeth teased breathy moans and grunts from the pair. Unable to take it any longer, Snape suddenly sat up and pulled his outer robe off before reaching down and inelegantly fumbled with Hermione's shoes before their were dropped to the ground, along with her socks. Returning to her welcoming body, Snape began to pull at the button on Hermione's jeans.

Hermione, who was as desperate as the Professor to feel their skins against each other, helped by lifting her hips to allow him to slide the jeans, along with her panties, down her legs. Noting the scratches and bruises along her thighs and shins, Snape looked up into Hermione's eyes before running his hands along the hurts, then bending down to kiss each and every blemish on his beautiful woman's skin.

He was so sad about what she had been through since the summer last year. Traipsing across the length and breadth of Britain. Being tortured…

Snape pulled the jacket and jumper from Hermione's body and saw the bright red, not yet healed, scar on the inside of her arm. _Mudblood_ was scrawled across her flesh in hurtful, messy lettering. He had, of course, heard Bellatrix's mad triumphant crowing after the fact, his blood boiling in anger.

Hermione gently pulling his chin towards her and straining towards him brought Snape back to the present. Smiling and placing one hand on her hip, the other to her breast, he leant down and kissed her languidly. Hermione hummed deep in her throat and pushed her pelvis up against Snape's growing erection, making him harder than seemed possible. Fumbling between them, Hermione tugged on his belt and opened his trousers to her searching hands.

Without waiting, Snape angled his hips and thrust into her warm depths. Hermione cried out in delicious surprise and immediately rocked herself to feel him move inside her. Snape's head dropped and bit Hermione's shoulder as the delicious witch underneath him moved her hips in just the right way to move his girth perfectly within her. Picking up the pace of his thrusts, their hands interlaced and were pushed against the rough wooden floor above Hermione's head.

Spreading warmth filled Hermione's lower abdomen and her breath hitched with the pace.

"Oh, Severus," Hermione panted.

Both close to their peaks, their open mouths joined and Hermione wrapped her legs tighter around Snape's hips and rocked to completion. Shouting his release as he pumped the final times into her body, and Hermione moaned as she went over the delicious edge. Frozen, their bodies intertwined, neither wanted to break their connection. Snape still had his head buried in Hermione's shoulder, breathing heavily as he slowly came back to himself.

Hermione turned her head to look towards the door of the room, and then out towards the window where bright flashes of the early battle could be seen. She softly rubbed her fingers back and forth over Snape's as she watched the sky outside.

Snape raised his head and reluctantly began to disentangle himself from Hermione. Slowly righting themselves and standing up, the pair began to dress. Not wanting to break the spell, they didn't. Turning to face him, Hermione smoothed her Professor's hair back from his face, where it had ended up, tangled and messy from their passion. Grabbing her hand and kissing her palm, Snape took one last look at the beautiful creature in front of him, still flushed from their love and her lips slightly swollen, he was sure he had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life.

Was it selfish of her to ask him to stay away from the battle? To not obey when Voldemort called his most faithful servant? Hermione knew that every step Severus Snape had taken over the past two decades had been towards this end. This was the night when all the plans, conversations and strategisng would come to a head. But she couldn't help but fantasise that he would run away from it all, with her.

As if sensing her train of thought, Snape kissed her one last time before gently pushing Hermione towards the door. Once last look was shared before Hermione quickly headed back towards the passage to the castle, and he watched her go with a heavy heart.

Severus Snape awaited his Master's final command.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione could smell the acrid burning of the castle and its grounds. The wind whipped the smoke in lazy swirls across the ruins of her home. Hardly believing that this is what it had come to, Hermione walked aimlessly.

* * *

All Severus Snape knew was pain. Burning pain pulsing from his neck in black tendrils, all the time becoming slower as the poison slowed his heart. He had seen her, one last time before the darkness would overcome him.

'Stupid girl,' he thought and wheezed a painful laugh through his lips.

Not quite able to say goodbye, and selfish enough to not want her there when he took his final breath, he had faked the stillness of death. Severus couldn't believe how childish he was being, but it was for the best, he reasoned.

As Potter took his memories of Lily, closing that particular story for good, Severus felt himself freed from all his earthly sins. Cleansed of all the wrong he had done in this world and was finally free and light as a feather to end it all. Then he had looked into the eyes of his beloved. One who had come out of thin air to heal the rifts in his soul. Before she had come into his life, Severus had never been able to entertain the idea of loving another as he had Lily. That was true. He didn't love Hermione Granger in the same was he had loved Lily Evans. Without Hermione, nothing made sense. Severus would remain to all outward appearances the same cynical, dark, and cold Death Eater that everyone expected. Inside, however, was a different story.

That was where Severus Snape found himself now. Unable to push his mind from the thoughts of this woman, flaming with life and love, for him, and he in return. He may be a man of 38, and Hermione, a young woman of 18…

'Time turners,' Severus groused to himself.

A sharp pain caused him to stiffen with a hiss. A tremendous boom shook the Shrieking Shack and as dust a remnants of the ceiling came down, Severus saw the last of his life stream down his arm, his hands, and in to a great puddle of congealed blood around his form.

'Ah yes," the dying man thought to himself. 'This was how it was always going to be. Dying. Alone.'

What colour was left in Severus Snape's face left and he was still.

* * *

Not knowing where she was going, Hermione finished her sombre tour of the battlefield and returned to The Great Hall, or what was left of it, to provide what little help she could. All she could see were rows and rows of wounded, and beyond, a black curtain separating those whose hearts still beat, from those who didn't.

A slightly harried Madam Pomfrey shuffled her way quickly to Hermione, very careful not to disturb a family's vigil beside a wounded Hogwarts student.

"Have you seen Professor McGonagall?" the Matron puffed as she reached Hermione's side.

Temporarily distracted by a pitiable wail of anguish from across the Hall where a young woman was clutching the hand of a recently deceased. You could see the black of the Hogwarts robe from beneath the rough blanket being lowered on to their face. Madam Pomfrey sniffled a little before turning back to Hermione.

"Dear?" she questioned.

Hermione pulled her eyes from the wailing girl and answered. "No, Madam Pomfrey," she uttered. "I haven't."

"Oh dear," she sighed. "We have ever so much to do, and our Headmistress not in sight."

"I'm sure she'll turn up," said Hermione. "Not to worry. In the meantime is there anything I can do. I know a little about Healing."

As though Madam Pomfrey had found her silver lining, Hermione was quickly directed to helping the less seriously injured with their cuts, scrapes, and broken bones.

The young woman worked herself from cot to cot, from student, to Auror, to Professor alike, healing their small ailments. After several hours, she was fixing Luna Lovegood's split lip when she saw Professor McGonagall hurry in to the Great Hall alone. The Headmistress was soon joined by Kingsley Shacklebolt. They had rather a heated conversation, about what Hermione could not guess, and at the moment in time she couldn't care less about, and the Kingsley left the Hall in a flourish of purple robes.

"Ouch," Luna squeaked as Hermione put a little too much Essence of Dittany on her lip.

"Sorry, Luna." Hermione apologised and removed the excess potion with the corner of a handkerchief.

"That's alright," Luna said quietly. Subtly looking around her, Luna checked her lip with her battle-worn fingers and moved closer to Hermione.

"Where is Professor Snape?" Luna asked.

Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the dark-coloured stopper bottle in her hands as she carefully screwed up the lid. Her eyes burning with the need to cry, Hermione placed the bottle in her beaded bag and looked up into the kind eyes of Luna. No one at Hogwarts really understood the strange, starry-eyed nymph. But Hermione knew that Luna saw more, and understood more, than she let on. Lest she have a break-down at the most in-opportune time, Hermione steadied herself with a deep breath.

"He is dead."

No words were spoken between the women after this proclamation. Luna simply squeezed Hermione's hand and allowed her to move on to the next patient.

Hermione could not bring herself to further think of her lover that day. Nor could she bring herself to go to the Shrieking Shack to bring back the body of the man who owned her heart and soul, and who had done so much for this second Wizarding War. It would only bring her to tears. Then to a complete and total breakdown, unlike ever seen in the brightest witch of her age. She would not do that. She could not do that. It would be completely unlike Hermione to let circumstance or emotions cloud what she needed to do. At this time and place she had to be strong for those around her. For Harry. For the Weasleys who had lost a son in the war, only adding to those that family had sacrificed over the course of two wars. Hogwarts had to be rebuilt. The Ministry had to be completely overhauled. Lots to be done. No time for selfish antics. Pulling herself together, Hermione continued to clean, bandage, and reset all ailments before Mrs Weasley forced a sandwich at her before directing her to the nearest bed. Gryffindor Tower was left thankfully largely unscathed, and Hermione fell behind the red-curtains in exhaustion.


	4. Chapter 4

Hogwarts was in mourning. Black banners flew in the warm June breeze, gently providing the only soundtrack to the silent procession of witches and wizards dressed in their darkest robes, come to pay their respects to those who had paid the ultimate sacrifice. It had taken over three weeks to clear the rubble and repair Hogwarts to the standard where a memorial could take place. However, the windows in the Great Hall had not yet been replaced, and half the ceiling was missing, the courtyard where the mourners were now passing was naught but a shadow of its former self, and the grounds had not yet recovered enough to sprout their green shoots of rebirth.

Earlier that morning, Hermione stood in front of her floor length mirror at The Burrow and sighed heavily. Grimacing at her pale complexion, dark set-eyes, and limp hair, she pulled on her deepest black robes. No one was to know that they were stolen. Carefully transfigured to her frame, and to remove the unique bat-like qualities its former owner revelled in.

Two days after the Final Battle, relieved of her Healing duties and physically pushed out of the Great Hall by a concerned Matron, Hermione found herself in Professor Snape's quarters. Still in the dungeons so he could keep an eye on his beloved Slytherins, Hermione took down the complicated wards and uttered the password. As soon as she crossed the threshold in to his sitting room, the sconces burst in to flame and a fire flickered merrily away in the grate. Hermione smiled until at the familiarity and safety of the setting until his scent washed over her. A mixture of cologne, spices, and his own smell filled her nose and temporarily knocked Hermione off balance. Clutching the back of a wing backed chair, Hermione uttered a sound somewhere between a groan and a cry, desperately trying to stay upright as his memory filled her. Her knuckles became white as the power of the memories hit her full-force in the chest.

 _"_ _Hermione, my love…" Severus whispered, gently joggling the stocking clad foot he had in his grasp._

 _Hermione looked up from 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard' to Severus. Her feet were currently being rubbed by the now-Headmaster of Hogwarts, murderer of Albus Dumbledore, and Spy for The Order of the Phoenix._

 _"_ _Yes, Severus?" Hermione knew this couldn't be good. Not one to back down from the truth, she had been dreading this particular conversation for months, and had been hoping hat it could be delayed to the very last second. This, it seems, is the very last second._

 _"_ _Hermione, you know what is coming." Severus began. "You know what must happen."_

 _The young witch nodded silently. Severus continued._

 _"_ _You must not mourn for me."_

 _Hermione blew out a breath and tried desperately to run out of the room and kill Voldemort with her bare hands._

 _"_ _You must live your life."_

 _She would wrap her fingers around his neck and squeeze until his snake eyes popped._

 _"_ _You must live your life to its full potential; as limitless as that is."_

 _The brittle little neck bones would crack beneath the force._

 _"_ _Hermione?" Severus asked, aware that the woman sitting across from him wasn't fully engaged in the conversation._

 _Hermione snapped out of her blissful daydreaming and sighed. "Yes, Severus, I am listening to you."_

 _Severus grimly smiled and went back to working on Hermione's feet. Passing his long fingers over the arch of her foot, gently applying pressure to the tight muscles beneath, he continued._

 _"_ _You know I will die."_

 _Hermione closed her eyes. She felt the movement of the couch as Severus came closer; she felt his warm hands cup her face._

 _"_ _I love you." Hermione whispered._

 _Still having her eyes closed, Hermione missed the sad smile that crossed Severus' face before he leant down and gently placed his lips against hers. Hermione, wanting to have all the contact she could with Severus until the day when he would inevitably be taken from this world, from her, turned more fully towards her lover and deepened the kiss._

Hermione, coming out of her memory, found herself leaning over the back of the chair, gripping the black leather for dear life. How had it come so quickly? How had she lost him?

Hermione followed the black snake of mourners to the mass memorial service. Ahead of her she could see the Weasleys, bunched close together, as though trying to fill the gap that Fred's death had left in their hearts. Hermione felt a lump grow in her throat. All the pain and torment, the tears and screaming, the helplessness and the hopelessness. She didn't know what to do, so Hermione did the only thing she could do. She said goodbye.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione had hit bottom. She had crash landed. Nothing meant anything anymore. Even her memories had no meaning. What she had cherished beyond her own soul had been ripped from her. Even though she had known that it would happen, and had been preparing herself, consciously or not, it still hurt.

Slowly opening her eyes, Hermione grimaced as the hard gunk in the corners of her eyes pulled at her eyelashes. She hadn't bothered to draw the curtains of her bedroom since she had cocooned herself in the room several days ago, and now the pale light of Spring illuminated the sad scene Hermione now found herself in. Her small beaded bag had been upended on the carpet, its contents falling out on to the floor. Hermione's empty eyes stared at an assortment of objects; random books, pieces of clothing, the odd empty vial of Essence of Dittany and a tent peg.

 _It was no use._

Hermione scrunched her duvet further up around her head, the sound of the feathers scratching across her ears within the cotton the only sound in the house.

 _Oh, Severus._

She slept.

/

Hermione didn't know how much time had passed since she had been conscious, and she really didn't care. Cutting through the safety of silence, three sharp knocks on the front door of her childhood home. Hoping beyond hope that whoever it was would go away, Hermione didn't move. Three more knocks, more insistent this time. Followed by…

"Miss Granger!"

Sighing, the young woman in question sat up in bed, her muscles stretching in the agony of too long being inactive.

 _"_ _Hermione Granger!"_ the voice Hermione couldn't identify yelled through the front door. "Are you in there?"

Descending the stairs, clutching her wand tightly in her hand, Hermione was determined to tell off the very rude person for interrupting her rest. Throwing open the door, Hermione came face to face with Kingsley Shacklebolt. Never having much to do with the Auror, Hermione was shocked to find him on her doorstep.

Kingsley, on the other hand, filled with instant worry as he took in the young witch before him. Sunken eyes, oily, limp hair and extremely ruffled, too-big clothing. She had obviously not been taking care of herself.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione steeled herself for the inevitable beratement. She had been half expecting someone to come and pull herself out of her own head, she just wasn't expecting…. well, an Auror and one of the top figures of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Mr Shacklebolt!" Hermione exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Kingsley was not at all pleased by what her was seeing. A young, vibrant, strong, intelligent witch, nearly destroyed by the scourge of war.

Gathering himself Kingsley said, "may I come in, Miss Granger?"

If the war had taught her anything, it was to be cautious. Raising her wand slowly, she remembered a security question from during the war.

"What was your name for and the name of the radio programme Lee Jordan hosted during the war?" Hermione pointed her wand right between Kingsley's eyes and waited, more than ready to cast a curse and blow any imposter in to dust.

Kingsley, somewhat shocked by the sudden turn of events, could only applaud Hermione's sense of safety.

"My name was _Royal_ , and the programme was called _Potterwatch_."

Taking a few extra seconds to lower her wand, Hermione then let Kingsley into her house. It was her house now, with her parents living their new life in Australia. She wasn't prepared to reverse the memory charms she had inflicted upon her poor Mum and Dad until she was 110% sure that all of Voldemort's supporters were either dead or locked up in Azkaban with absolutely no hope of ever being released. Until that time came, she would let them live their happy life, away from any possible danger, and away from their broken daughter.

Closing the door behind the huge frame of the Auror as he walked in to the living room, Hermione sighed and giggled her leg with impatience.

"How can I help you, sir?"

Kingsley was pulled from his observation of her simple Muggle abode and answered.

"We haven't heard anything of you since the Memorial Service, Miss Granger." He turned and faced Hermione. "The Order, your friends in particular, are very worried about you."

 _Then why didn't they come themselves?_ Hermione thought, her juvenile side taking hold for a second.

Walking past Kingsley to the couch, Hermione threw herself into the cushions and jerked a soft blanket across her knees.

 _Of course you haven't heard from me, you stupid fool. The love of my life has been murdered by the most evil being ever known to the Wizarding World, her best friends were broken, friends dead, the world she knew and loved in ruins. Her grief was all she had._

"It's best if I stay here, Mr. Shacklebolt." Hermione said quietly, pulling on a loose thread from the blanked.

"Please, call me Kingsley." Indicating to a chair, he sat after Hermione nodded. Leaning forward, he looked Hermione right in the eyes.

"I have been asked to check on you by the Weasleys and Harry." Briefly pausing as he chose his words very carefully. "They are worried about you. But also understand that you are grieving. As are they. But… they are together. Helping each other. You are alone, Miss Granger."

"Hermione."

Nodding his head, Kingsley continued.

"Hermione" smiling slightly, he continued. "They have asked if I would come and talk to you about something to do."

Hermione was surprised at this. She was half expecting a knee-jerk reaction from one or more of her friends, insisting that she be with them, right now, because that's what they thought best. But, something to do. Hermione was half tempted to have a shred of hope that what Kingsley was about to say may indeed, help.

"They know you don't like to wallow. But that you also needed time alone"

Hermione snorted at this and let Kingsley continue.

"I have a proposition."

Pulling a thick piece of parchment out of his pocket, Kingsley handed it to Hermione who opened the heavy paper to see row upon row upon row of names.

"These are the witches, wizards and Muggles who, throughout the course of the Wizarding War, went missing, and because of the circumstances, we were unable to find them."

Hermione continued to look down the list as she listened to the Auror.

 _So many names._

"Would you work with the newly re-formed Ministry to help find these people?" Kingsley swallowed. "Dead or alive?"

Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. He had to say the word, didn't he? Pushing her hurt aside, Hermione folded the parchment before she had even made it past the Bs and looked out the window. Light rain had begun to fall and swirling great grey, almost blue, clouds moved across the frame of the window. Could she? Would she? Taking a deep breath, Hermione stood.

Kingsley's head quickly jerked to follow Hermione's movements. She walked across the room, staring at the books that lined the cosy living room, the blanket discarded on the floor. She saw lots of titles of stories, some her father's favourite, some her mother's, some hers. Paperback, hard cover, essays, childrens' books. Briefly smiling, remembering her parents quietly reading in this very room the Christmas before the war had begun, occasionally laughing or humming in response to what they were reading. The memory warmed Hermione for a moment and she was glad that she had sent her parents away because she knew where they were, and knew they were safe. She imagined a young witch of her age, across the country, alone in her childhood home, without the security and knowledge of where her family was. That decided it.

Turning and walking towards Kingsley, Hermione held out her hand.

"I would be glad to be a part of it, Kingsley."

Kingsley Shacklebolt quickly rose to his feet and firmly shook Hermione's hand.

"We are going to do great work, Hermione." Releasing Hermione's hand, he walked to the door, before turning. "Look for my owl."

With that, he was gone. The front door softly clicking and a with a "pop" of apparition, he was gone.

 _Well, that was unexpected_. _But this is what Severus would have wanted_.

With that, determined to at least not smell like she herself were dead, Hermione took herself to the bathroom to bathe and prepare herself mentally, and physically, for the good work ahead.


End file.
